


The 61st Hunger Games

by gaytriforce



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 61st Hunger Games, Boys In Love, Falling In Love, M/M, OC, Original Arena(s) (Hunger Games), graphic violence between children, mlm, not my OCs, sexually explicit content, underage for canon ages 16/17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriforce/pseuds/gaytriforce
Summary: Justin Hix from District Six is reaped into the 61st Hunger Games. He's accepted his death, but then a boy walks into his life.This story is based on an original story and characters created by Christian Blanco in his YouTube series Tales of the Hunger Games. I did not create the major characters, storylines, or plot elements outlined in this work. All credit goes to Christian Blanco.
Relationships: Justin Hix/Clearfell Amber
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	1. Before the Games

**Author's Note:**

> I did not create the major characters, storylines, or plot elements outlined in this work. All credit goes to Christian Blanco. Please watch his videos, as they are excellent fan creations of the past Hunger Games! For a breakdown on what I actually created for this story, see the end notes.

“And the male tribute from District Six is…”

He watches that stupid purple hand dig around in the bowl of papers, closing his eyes. He’s known all his life that he would end up a victim of the Games, somehow.

“Justin Hix!”

Sooner rather than later, he thinks.

“Well, shake hands, tributes”

Justin meets the hollow eyes of the girl in front of him. He’s seen her in the morphling dens, on the rare occasion he ventures in to trade the drugs for food. She raises a shaky hand, grasping onto his, and he tries not to recoil at the feeling of her tendons under nothing but skin.

The train ride is silent, the parade uneventful. Justin and Massachusie are dressed in horrible railroad track jumpsuits. She almost falls out of the vehicle after a particularly large tremor.

That night, Justin weeps into the silk pillowcase. He wonders what his cold, distant sister will do now that she’s unburdened. He lets his sobs disappear into the fabric, eventually letting the unfamiliar silence lull him to sleep.

He wakes the next morning to a hard knock on the door, an outfit placed at the foot of the bed. He stares at the tight pants, the short sleeves of the shirt, and realizes his stylist wants as much of his body on display as possible.

Justin walks out to the breakfast table with his arms crossed over his chest. “Good morning.” He says quietly, nodding to Massachusie.

His mentor, Llewelyn Cast, barely spares him a glance before turning back to his breakfast, swirling a spoon through the mess of uneaten food.

Justin sits silently, staring at the food on the table and realising he’s never seen so much in his life.

“Please. Just a little.” He hears from his left, and when he looks up he sees the woman sitting in front of Massachusie urging her to eat. “It’ll keep your strength up.”

Massachusie only stares into space, shivering despite the room’s temperature. The woman in front of her gives up, leaning back in her seat and taking a small glass bottle from where it sits behind Llewelyn.

When she lifts her head to place a few drops of the liquid on her tongue, Justin recognizes her face. Megan Hayes, District Six’s only female victor.

She meets his gaze, pulling the dropper away. He looks away, embarrassed, only to look back up to a warm smile. Megan gestures to the spread. “Go on. Eat whatever you like.”

Justin again looks at the table full of food, feeling nausea settle in his stomach. “I… don’t know that I can.”

Megan looks into his eyes with her slightly hazy ones, peering deep for signs of drugs. 

“I’m not on morphling. I’ve barely ever done it. All this food, it’s just so unfamiliar.” He says, eyeing a tray of brightly colored jellies.

Her smile turns sad, and she again reaches for the bottle. “Eat as much as you can. You’ll be grateful for it in the arena.” 

Pain fills her eyes. She pulls glassy liquid from the dropper, depositing a large amount onto her tongue, and her face immediately goes slack with the feeling of floating. Justin doesn’t understand how people from his district can give in so easily.

He sees it in her raised cheekbones, the way her smile seems to pull on her face, the slimness of her limbs and the scars on her wrists. It’s then that he remembers her games, and the sense of impending doom brought on by the arena inches a little bit closer.

Justin pushes away the plate in front of him, suddenly nervous for training, and all the people in the room are so mentally far away he has no idea what to do.

  
  


The walk to training is full of the same silence that has come to consume Justin’s life. He holds Massachusie up by her arm halfway through the trip when she falls. Their escort, whose name Justin still hasn’t learned, chirps that they’ve arrived when they’re standing in front of a set of double doors.

He becomes increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his fellow tributes. Six careers are freely gazing around the room, their eyes skirting over him in distaste. The back of his neck heats up in embarrassment when the eyes of the boy from Two rest on his chest just a little too long.

The head trainer starts a long spiel, but most of it is recognizable from past games, so Justin allows his mind to wander. He finds himself sizing up the other tributes as well, trying to see what he’s been condemned to.

“Alright. You can go anywhere you want now. Lunch will be served around one. Make good use of your time, tributes.” She finishes, stepping aside. They all start to stir, with the career pack immediately flocking to the weapons stations.

Justin turns to his left, where Massachusie is staring at a trident. “Do you want to stick together?”

She gives a noncommittal shrug that turns out more like a shiver. “Okay.”

They scan the room, watching the muscled careers spar with ease, other tributes hesitantly picking up knives, and near them, the empty survival stations.

“Do you want to go over there?” Justin asks, nodding to the camouflage section.

At the eager nod of Massachusie’s head, they set off. Justin surveys the different materials and picks up layers of moss and mud, looking around for a good spot.

He eyes the artificial tree bark wall next to them and deems it as good a place as any, swirling the brown tones onto his skin and placing piles of raw material on top, effectively camouflaging himself into the wall.

Once he’s fully covered, Justin waits for the instructor to come over and inspect his work, leaning up against the wall until he’s disappeared into it completely.

He’s been waiting for a few minutes, not having any particular desire to leave this station, when he feels someone lean up against the front of his body, warm and lean. Justin freezes at the feeling of human contact, something he hasn’t experienced in a very long time.

Of course, he has to ruin it by sneezing.

The boy jumps back immediately, the look on his face so comical that Justin gives a short laugh, before remembering where they are.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He says, looking up a few inches to meet the eyes of the boy from Nine.

He laughs back, holding out a hand to shake. “It’s alright. Speaks for your talent, really. I’m Clearfell.”

Justin hasn’t ever heard a name so unique. He tales Clearfell’s hand, catching his surprisingly strong grip in a handshake for a few moments. “I’m Justin.”

Clearfell eyes the mud that’s rubbed off on his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, you look just like the tree.”

Justin grins. “Look.” He says, leaning back onto the surface and closing his eyes, knowing he’s disappeared into the tree again.

“Wow!” Clearfell says, with a childlike sense of wonder, clapping when Justin steps away from the wall. “That’s really good.”

“Thank you.” Justin responds, beaming. “I know it looks really hard, but anyone can pick it up.”

Clearfell suddenly looks at him thoughtfully. “Do you think you could teach me? In return, I could show you how to use a pitchfork. I was practically born with one in my hand.”

District Nine. Grain, Justin remembers. “I would love that.” He responds, leaning over some water to wash his face. “Hand me that towel?”

He hands over a clean towel, and Justin takes it, wiping what’s left of the mud away. He pulls the moss off, dropping it in a bin. “Okay, what do you want to camouflage into?”

“Hm…” Clearfell thinks for a moment. “Over there?”

Justin follows his gaze to another artificial landscape, sandy and rocky. “Okay. Watch me.”

He picks up some of the sand, admiring its unfamiliar texture. “You have to learn to work with what you have. See the sand?”

“Mhm.”

“It won’t stick to skin on its own. See?” Justin presses the sand to his arm, watching it fall off. “It needs something to hold on to. What can you find?”

His eyes dart around the small landscape, landing on the water. “Use the water?”

“Okay. Go ahead and try it.” Justin sits back, propped up on his hands. 

Clearfell picks up the water and wets the sand, pushing it onto his skin. It falls off, just how Justin knew it would.

“It’s wet, but not sticky enough.” He observes. “Try letting the water evaporate off your skin. It’s saltwater, so it’ll leave a residue.”

He watches as Clearfell dabs the water onto the back of his hand, watching the liquid disappear. They sit in comfortable silence while it dries, and when the sand sticks to it immediately, Justin shares a rare smile with him.

Clearfell whoops in triumph, attracting glances from around the room. Massachusie even looks up from where she’s painted the sun onto her face.

Justin gives Clearfell another quiet smile as they both stifle laughter. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Clearfell responds, placing more sand on the backs of his fingers. “Watch out, or I’ll be as good as you pretty soon.”

“You still have to give me that pitchfork lesson. What do you even do with pitchforks in Nine?” Justin asks, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands.

Clearfell picks up a rag, wiping the sand away. “We use them to work in the wheat fields, spearing the tall stalks onto carts to be turned into grain. Sometimes wild animals get in the way, so we have to kill them. We get a good dinner those nights.”

He looks lost in his own words for a moment before sitting up and glancing around nervously.

“What is it?” Justin asks.

“Nothing, I…” Clearfell trails off, looking up at the gamemakers. “Do you think they’re filming us? Do you think they can hear us?”

Justin shoots a look up at the gamemakers, who are mostly eating and talking raucously. The few who are paying attention are watching the careers and taking notes.

“I don’t think so.” He says, watching Clearfell slump back against the wall. “Why?”

“I just don’t want anything I say to reflect back on people at home. It’s not all exactly legal.” Clearfell responds, trying for a laugh.

“They seem to care more about their posca than us.” Justin remarks, a note of hatred in his voice. He looks at Clearfell, still clearly worried, and tries to lighten the tension. “Tell me about them.”

Clearfell blinks in surprise. “You mean people back home?” At Justin’s nod, he thinks for a second before continuing.

“I have a lot of friends. Or, I thought I did, I guess. None of them showed up to see me after I got reaped.” He says, staring at a stick he’s picked up, flipping it over in his hands. “I saw their faces when they called my name. Relieved. Guilty, but relieved.”

“Can’t say I can relate.” Justin remarks, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them.

Clearfell studies him for a second. “Well, I guess you’re lucky, then.”

Justin laughs, surprising them both. “No, I meant I didn’t really have any friends. Most people my age were just starting to skirt into the morphling dens. Not really my thing.”

“Why not?” Clearfell asks, and Justin’s starting to get a grasp of who he is. Inquisitive by nature.

He stares at the ground, the shiny white tile unfamiliar. “It’s kinda personal.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Clearfell responds with a sheepish smile. “I’m known back home for being slightly nosy.”

“Slightly?” Justin quips, and Clearfell stares at him for a moment before laughing and shoving him lightly in the arm.

“Hey! You two! No fighting!” A trainer barks, bringing the attention of the room onto them again.

“Nothing to worry about here.” Clearfell calls back, giving her a charming smile that has absolutely no effect, while Justin tries to stifle a laugh in the background.

Clearfell stands, offering Justin his hand. “Time for that pitchfork lesson, my prince?”

He bites his lip, shakes his head, and smiles. “Shut up.” He says, taking the offered hand and trailing behind Clearfell to the long range weapons area.

“Okay. This is a pretty standard pitchfork. They probably won’t be in the arena, but spears are similar enough. Go ahead, pick it up.”

Justin hesitantly picks up the weapon, looking at the prongs. “What now?”

“Wait, are you left-handed?” Clearfell asks, looking at him curiously.

“Mhm.” Justin responds, still studying the weapon.

“Then I’ll reverse what I know.” Clearfell says, still looking at him strangely. “Alright. Take this stance, but with your left foot forward.”

He spends the rest of the hour teaching Justin how to stand, throw, and thrust. By the time the trainers call for lunch, they’re both sweaty and hungry.

Justin looks around for Massachusie and sees her passed out next to a table of knives. He decides it’s best not to wake her.

He walks into the dining hall with Clearfell, unsure of whether they’re going to sit together, but he follows behind as Clearfell pulls out two chairs at an empty table.

“You’re doing pretty well with the pitchfork. Maybe it’ll be my turn after lunch to soak up more of your camouflaging expertise?” Clearfell says, poking Justin with a long straw.

Justin finds an even longer straw on the table and pokes him back. “Sure. There’s a lot to cover, but we do have two more days.”

  
  


“How did you learn all of this?” Clearfell asks Justin on the third day as they’re sorting through pieces of moss.

“We all learn in Six, here and there. Based on some sort of statistic, we have the smallest bodies of all the districts, so it’s easiest for us to evade instead of attack. Everyone worries about going into the Games, so most parents try to teach their kids how to hide, at least a little.”

He pulls a twig out of the pile. “And, we have a history of hiding ourselves on trains and sneaking into the Capitol. Not the same type of stuff we’re working with here, but Six has always known how to be invisible.”

Clearfell takes on a thoughtful expression, studying Justin as he does so often. “You are really short.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” Justin responds, to both of their laughter.

One of the trainers walks by. “Six! Nine! Less chatter, more work.” He says with a disapproving look.

Clearfell’s face turns solemn, not cracking until the second the trainer turns away, a smile breaking out.

Justin just shakes his head, smiling.

  
  


The night of the interviews, Justin has to hold Massachusie’s arm as they’re pulled into a dimly lit area backstage. He just hopes she won’t collapse in front of all of Panem.

“Hey.” He hears, turning to see Clearfell looking out of place in a gold sequined tux. Justin raises one eyebrow, teasing. “My stylist seemed to think it would look like grain, or something.”

He cracks a smile, and that’s when Justin realizes he must be nervous. He’d be nervous himself if he thought this night has any impact on his future. He knows his body will be shipped back home in a box.

“Well, I kind of like it. Matches your hair.” Justin says, trying to cheer him up. The suit is garish, but the way it’s cut is clearly meant to highlight Clearfell’s body, and it’s working.

Clearfell gives him a half smile, his eyes raking Justin’s body. “You don’t clean up too bad yourself.”

Justin immediately blushes under his gaze, and he’s sure Clearfell can see it, but he just raises his head and smiles back. “Thank you.”

They stare at each other for a moment until an assistant tells them it’s time to get in place. Justin gives Clearfell one last small smile before stepping up behind Massachusie.

He watches as Chrysoprase from One gives a speech about his proficiency with knives. He grimaces when Jezebel from Two steps out in a dress with a neckline that dips down to her navel.

When it’s Clearfell’s turn to be carted away to the stage, Justin realizes this could be the last time they ever see each other. Clearfell’s eyes find him in the dim light, and they share a look before he’s gone, where Justin can only see him through a screen.

“It’s Clearfell Amber, from District Six!” Festus Creed exclaims on the screen, his cheeks patterned with yellow swirls. “Clearfell, it’s great to have you here in the Capitol. How are you liking it here?”

As soon as Clearfell gives an easy smile, stage face on, Justin knows he’ll be alright.

“The Capitol is probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve watched reruns of Bluebell Jansen’s Games.” He quips, earning a laugh from both Festus and the audience.

Justin zones out, focusing only on Clearfell’s mask of composure, painted on for the audience, hoping he can emulate it during his own time onstage.

Before he knows it, a Capitol assistant is directing him to the wings, and in no time at all, he’s walking on to the applause of thousands of people.

He shakes Festus’s hand, wondering if Clearfell is watching his interview the way Justin had. Probably not, he thinks.

“So!” Festus claps, and Justin’s set on focusing on his bright yellow eye makeup. “What are you looking forward to in these Games, Justin?”

What is he looking forward to? Is he supposed to say dying?

“The opportunity to experience something only a handful of people can say they’ve done.” He responds finally, gaining a slightly confused reaction from the audience.

“I think we can all safely say we’re excited to see who this year will join the ranks of our favorite victors!” Festus says with a grin. The viewers cheer, and Justin relaxes a little. “So, Justin, how do you feel about your chances? Any special skills?”

Justin has no idea what to say, but then he remembers Clearfell’s voice.  _ I’ll be as good as you pretty soon. _

“Well, I can’t say I’m very smart, or strong,” he starts, pausing for effect. “But I’m excellent with camouflage. I can hide in almost any place.”

The audience lets out an  _ ooh, _ which relaxes Justin the slightest bit more. Festus looks out at them, a bright smile on his face. “Camouflage! That’s certainly very interesting. You come from District Six?”

Justin’s almost positive he’s only asking that to remind the audience, but he’s grateful for it either way. He nods, leaning forward in the chair. “Our industry is transportation, so I work on circuit lines for trains.”

He doesn’t. They don’t start working until eighteen in Six, but he might gain some points with the Capitol.

“Aha, a techie! We all remember how our favorite Beetee Latier won using his electronic skills, yes?” The crowd cheers again. “Maybe Justin will follow suit!”

Justin smiles, holding his face up so the lights will catch it. “I can only hope so, Festus.”

“Now, Justin,” he senses the mood changing, and sits up straighter. “Is there anything that’s stuck out to you about the experience so far? The training, the parade?”

Well, this is certainly interesting, he thinks. He’s wondering which part of the glorification of his imminent death he’s going to lie about enjoying when a thought strikes him.

“The friendships.” He answers quietly. A strange and confusing answer, surely, but the only truth he can think of.

The buzzer goes off, and Festus stands, clapping politely for him. “Our time is up with Justin Hix, so ladies and gentlemen, the male tribute from District Six!”

The camera flashes and sounds of applause are jarring, overwhelming. Somehow, he makes it off the stage, and Llewelyn Cast is standing there.

“At least one of you made it through the interview without just staring into space the whole time.” He says gruffly. “Come on. Get back to your apartments. You’ll be needing whatever sleep you can get.”

His laugh is condescending as he walks away.


	2. The Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gong goes off, and Justin is forced to make a decision.

The second Justin’s head surfaces above the ground, his eyes search the surrounding area. Trees. A clearing. Humid, moist air that already has his hair dampening with sweat.

_ Fifty _

Justin gulps in air, desperately trying to clear his head. He’ll need water in this heat, he thinks, setting his sights on a small bundle about ten yards to his left. He sees a water bottle not far from it, placed almost directly in front of the deadly girl from Two.

_ Forty _

Massachusie. Where is she? Justin takes a few seconds to glance around the circle. On his left, Root from Eleven is positioning his body for a sprint into the thickly wooded jungle.

_ Thirty _

To his right, Lupe from Ten is hyperventilating. Justin has to take a few deep breaths in order to keep himself from following suit.

_ Twenty _

Just get the bundle, it’s bound to have something useful, he thinks. 

_ Ten _

Justin finishes looking around the circle, seeing tributes position themselves to run. No sign of Massachusie. He looks directly across the Cornucopia, and stood exactly opposite of him, is Clearfell.

_ Five _

Clearfell meets his gaze, raising his chin to the sky. He gives Justin a terrified smile, and just then, the gong sounds.

The clearing descends into immediate chaos. Justin sprints as hard as he can, faster than he’s ever run in his entire life, and scoops up the bundle to see it’s a sandwich wrapped in fabric.

He eyes the water bottle, and in the split second he pauses to decide, a familiar scream rings in his ears.

Justin looks up in time to see Massachusie get speared in the head with an arrow, falling to the ground. There’s clearly no saving her, but Justin spares her one last glance before sprinting into the jungle.

Panic ebbs at the edges of his mind the entire time he’s running, but he forces it back down, focusing on getting away from the screams of terror.

After almost an hour, he’s slowed to a brisk walk when the canons start to sound. Justin wants to stop and count how many, but putting more distance between himself and the Cornucopia is his first priority.

The pressing heat starts to get to Justin, drenching him in sweat. He pulls off his jacket and tucks it under his arm, forcing his tired body to keep walking until night falls in the arena.

When the sun leaves the horizon, Justin looks around for materials to camouflage himself with. He sifts through piles of leaves, passing plants between his fingers for hours until he gives up. Everything in the arena is useless for camouflage.

Justin looks up to the tall trees, and an idea comes to mind. Grasping the firm bark between his fingers, he pulls himself up to the top of one of the trees.

He watches as the fallen are projected in the sky. At the image of the girl from Nine, he holds his breath, but the next picture to appear belongs to the girl from Eleven.

Even though he dreads having to fight him, or know he’s dead when the stakes are higher, Justin is silently relieved at the knowledge that Clearfell has made it through the first day. 

It’s the thought of Clearfell looking at the sky with the same thoughts about him that lulls Justin into a fitful sleep.

  
  


Justin wakes in the early hours of the morning to the feeling of rain on his face. He almost laughs out loud as the droplets paint his skin.

He starts to climb down the tree, the sandwich tucked safely away under his shirt. He’s almost at the bottom when his hand slips on something.

It’s a patch of dirty bark, made slippery by the rain. 

An idea comes to Justin’s mind when he again runs his fingers over the tree, seeing brown come off on his pale skin.

Justin takes handfuls of the newly wet mud and slathers himself with it, providing a good adhesive for the bark he carefully pries from the tree.

Plastering himself with the stuff, Justin effectively turns himself into a very small tree. He’s satisfied enough with his results to climb the tree again and blend in.

For his current situation, Justin feels pretty good. He jumps at every drop of rain, goes into a defensive stance with every rumble of thunder, but he’s surprisingly confident. The tree offers good concealment, the rainwater is easy to drink off the leaves, and he has some food.

This temporary comfort keeps Justin in place for two days.

On the morning of the third day, Justin is patching a bare spot on his neck with mud when he hears the screams. 

The sounds of chasing are enough for Justin to throw himself face first into the ground, hitting his nose so hard he thinks it’s bleeding.

Well, this is how it ends, he thinks. 

The thirty seconds he spends not breathing feel like an eternity. The sounds of hurried footsteps rush past, followed by an angry clucking he can’t place.

Eventually, he judges the screams to be further away than they were, lifting his head up the tiniest bit, just enough to see in front of him.

At first, Justin doesn’t see anything. He stands up cautiously, getting ready to climb the tree again, when the screams increase tenfold. The sound is coming from right behind him.

It’s Root, and Delia from Twelve. They’re lying bloody and torn apart on the ground, just barely still alive enough to scream. 

They’re being pecked to death by a flamboyance of flamingos.

Justin freezes. He’s never felt terror quite this intense. Time seems to stop as he can’t move away from the screams of pure agony. They seem to quiet into low moans, painful even to hear, until they stop altogether and two canons sound.

He takes an automatic step back. A twig snaps. The flamingos look up.

At the sight of their beady red eyes, Justin runs. He sprints through the jungle, the vicious animals trailing quickly behind him. He wishes he could cover his ears and block out the clucking.

Sweat forms on Justin’s brow, slowly at first, then pouring down his face as he runs. At the first nip of a beak at his jacket, he scales the closest tree, leaving the animals grounded behind him.

Justin can finally breathe again, but the incessant clucking reminds him he isn’t safe. He’ll probably never be safe again.

The very thought of that threatens to bring up bubbles of hysterical laughter, so he gasps for air, trying to stay as far out of sight of the flamingos as possible.

The only thing calming him is the abundance of large leaves in this tree. Drinking rainwater shouldn’t be any problem.

And it isn’t. Until the fifth day.

Justin notices the second the leaves start to shrink and wilt, turning in on themselves and dying as if their supply of life has been cut off. One glance at the artificially perfect tree they grow on gives him the sneaking suspicion that it has.

The pains in his stomach have become unbearable. Justin’s hands shake every time he lifts them, his vision blurring with large movements. He knows he has to get to more resources. There have to be some somewhere.

He looks down to the sleeping flock, a sense of dread filling his otherwise empty stomach. This might be his only chance.

Justin slowly begins to lower his body out of the tree. A flamingo moves. He freezes. Over and over again, until he’s just reached the base of the tree. One false movement could mean his death.

Stepping in between the birds is its own form of hell. Justin carefully places each step, maneuvering around the animals with, to a viewer, what looks like brave precision. In reality, he’s terrified out of his mind.

He’s almost out of the way when one flamingo moves in its sleep, its wing hitting his leg. He has to sink his teeth into his own tongue and swallow the blood to avoid making a sound.

Justin slowly creeps away from the flock, turning every other second to ensure they’re asleep. As soon as he’s a good distance away, he breaks into a full run, sprinting again with everything in his body. 

The flamingos wake behind him, the clucking starting up again, but by the time they think to look for him, he’s long gone.

He collapses against a rock, exhausted, and unable to let himself cry. Good, he thinks. His face is fully lit under the moon. Let the cameras get their close-up.

And they must, because only minutes later, twin silver parachutes drift down, landing next to him.

Justin scrambles to grab them, afraid they might dissolve into nothing and drift away though his fingers as quickly as they came.

The first metal vessel contains two bottles of water. He drinks deeply from one, leaving about half of it left to ration for later. 

The second holds something far more exciting. Justin makes no attempt to conceal the excitement on his face as he uncovers dozens of different makeup colors, no doubt for camouflaging.

He looks to the sky, smiling, and mouths two words to his sponsor. “Thank you.”

Justin climbs a relatively short tree and falls asleep, gifts clutched tightly in his hands.

  
  


The next morning, Justin wakes to the sound of chirping throughout the arena. He lifts his head cautiously in fear of the pink menaces, only to see a songbird perched on a nearby branch. He gives it a little wave, causing it to fly away. 

He’s just grateful a bird exists that isn’t trying to kill him.

Justin looks out to the surrounding landscape. He sees mostly thickly wooded jungle, with a few clearings. A small lake catches his eye. He then looks down to the makeup, still tightly wound in his grasp. Upon closer examination, the gels are sticky, allowing him to plaster raw materials to his skin.

He spends most of the day covering his body from head to toe, barely finishing his left arm when the sound of footsteps brings back that ever familiar dread.

Panicking, Justin gathers his things and dives off the tree and into a patch of bushes that bank the lake. 

Loud taunts and jeers fill his ears, along with the sound of panicked breathing. The sound is so close that he realizes the careers’ victim must be near.

He looks up to see Clearfell, panting, and seemingly looking around for a place to go.

As the taunts get closer, the decision to help him is instant. Justin bursts out of the bushes, causing Clearfell to jump back in surprise. No one’s laughing this time, he thinks, almost hysterically.

He grabs Clearfell’s arm, taking no time to feel the firm muscle beneath his grasp. When he meets Clearfell’s eyes, the panic is there, but so is curiosity. 

“Trust me. Take a deep breath!” Justin says quickly, inhaling deep before he plunges them both into the lake.

He opens his eyes and sees Clearfell struggling through the murky water. Justin wraps his arms around him, keeping them both still under the surface.

Justin can just make out the silhouettes of the careers, charging right past the lake and back into the jungle. He waits, feeling his lungs constrict, and when he can’t stand it anymore, he pulls Clearfell with him to the surface and gasps for air.

They both breathe in as deeply and silently as they can, listening for the careers. When there’s no sound of them, Justin turns to Clearfell, water dripping down his face.

“I was in the bushes, and heard them running after you. When I saw that it was you, I knew I had to help. We have to move now before they come back.” He says, moving towards the shore of the lake.

The feeling of Clearfell’s hand on his arm is jarring, warmth standing out against the cold.

“Wait.” Clearfell says, looking into Justin’s eyes. “Thank you for saving my life.” He says sincerely.

Justin feels a smile paint his face for the second time in the arena. “You’re welcome.” The sound of footsteps in the jungle makes his smile drop. “But we need to get moving.”

Clearfell follows his gaze to where the career pack is just breaking out of the jungle. Justin pats his hand against the water bottle and makeup, still tucked safely away in his shirt, and begins to run.

They reenter the jungle, staying just out of the careers’ sight, but the all too familiar clucking noise greets them. 

“Stop.” Justin says, grabbing Clearfell’s arm. He places a finger to his lips, and they stand motionless for a moment, making as little noise as possible while the clucking starts to wane.

Still, the shouts of the careers are growing louder from the opposite direction. Clearfell looks at him anxiously.

“Go. Climb.” Justin says, pushing Clearfell towards the nearest tree.

“I don’t know how!” He responds, trying to hold on to a weak branch. “Just go. Get up there and I’ll follow.”

Justin throws a panicked look back at the careers, who have just come into their line of sight. He quickly scales the tree and holds a hand down to Clearfell.

“Grab on. Use your feet to get further up.” He instructs, pulling Clearfell slowly up the tree. “Good, like that. Just a bit more.”

A flamingo pecking near his feet prompts Clearfell to pull himself just out of their reach. He clings to Justin, who holds on just as tight.

Chrysoprase crashes up to the tree with a sword, Jezebel following not further behind with a bow. “Fuck.” Clearfell breathes. All of the careers make it up to the base of the tree, positioned for an attack.

Justin goes to brace himself for impact when he remembers what’s lurking behind. “Don’t look.” He says to Clearfell, just as the first flamingo rips open Chrysoprase’s throat.

“What-” Clearfell starts to say, but Justin covers his mouth.

“Don’t distract them.” He whispers, nodding to the birds. Realization dawns on Clearfell’s face, and then horror, as he watches the pair from One get torn apart simultaneously.

Four canons go off as Jezebel runs off towards the sunset, the flamingos following behind her.

Justin sits in shock for a moment before remembering he’s still holding Clearfell tightly. “Sorry. We can get out of this tree once the bodies are gone.” A shudder runs through him at the word  _ bodies. _

Clearfell lets out a low whistle. “I guess we should be glad the birds took care of that for us.”

“Guess we should.” Justin responds. They watch in relative silence as the claw takes each corpse individually, finally removing Chrysoprase and returning to the sky for good.

They look at the bloody ground. “We should get moving before someone sees the claw and comes looking.” Justin says, glancing down at Clearfell. “Assuming you want to stick together?” He adds, hesitantly.

Clearfell scoffs. “You saved me twice already. Allies?”

Justin smiles. “Okay.”

“We’re not all that high up.” Clearfell says, letting go of Justin and carefully jumping out of the tree.

Justin follows suit, leaving them alone with a pile of blood. They silently walk around it, moving until they find a small clearing. 

“Good a place to spend the night as any?” Clearfell suggests, nodding to the ground.

“Sure.” Justin responds, feeling the day’s exhaustion catch up with him. 

Clearfell sees him try to conceal a yawn and gives him a soft smile. “I can take the first watch.”

“Thank you.” Justin responds gratefully, laying his jacket down as a pillow and lying on the soft leaves. “Wake me when you get tired.” He murmurs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clearfell says gently, and his voice is the last thing Justin hears before falling into a dream filled sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a breakdown of what belongs to me and what doesn’t, as well as where this story will diverge from canon, please see the notes of chapter one.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I want to say one thing first: Christian Blanco, the creator of the YouTube videos which are the source material for this story, has read chapter one and enjoyed it! This is super cool for me, and I hope he continues to like it going forward!
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please leave me a comment!


	3. The Games Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin and Clearfell get to know each other a bit more.

Justin jumps awake at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. It’s just me.” Clearfell says. Justin immediately settles again, looking up to the dark sky.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “My turn for watch?”

“If you don’t mind. I’m almost asleep over here.” Clearfell says with a sheepish smile.

“Go to sleep. I feel better rested already,” Justin responds. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Clearfell smiles and turns over, lying down and using his jacket as a pillow. Justin watches as his breathing slows, steadying until he falls asleep.

He stares for another moment before realizing how creepy he must seem, but Justin doesn’t want to pull his eyes off Clearfell. He looks so peaceful in sleep, curled into a ball like a small child.

Justin feels something, something odd, something protective, but he pushes it deep down inside him, looking away from Clearfell and off into the jungle. There’s no place for feelings in the arena.

He focuses on keeping his face neutral. Hours pass, and the sun is just poking over the horizon. Justin thinks, more than slightly sarcastically, that the arena is truly a beautiful piece of land. The kind of picture his sister would rip out carefully and keep in a box.

Justin turns to his left and places a hand on Clearfell’s arm. He opens his eyes immediately, jumping awake with a start. His features soften when he sees it’s Justin, settling as he sits up.

“Morning,” Clearfell greets, stretching his arms with a yawn. “Wow, I really needed to sleep.”

He seems to notice Justin looking at him right then, shooting him a sort of wary self conscious smile that causes Justin to turn his gaze away immediately.

“So,” Justin says, a little too loud. “We should sort our supplies.” He tries not to let his voice waver from a combination of anxiety and hunger, but Clearfell notices right away.

“Have you eaten anything in the arena yet?” He asks, his eyes locking on Justin’s shaking arm.

Justin waves him off. “I got a sandwich from the cornucopia.” He says dismissively.

Clearfell gives him a pointed look. “And that’s all? Food should be our first priority, then.”

“Well, now that we’re rested, there’s nothing stopping us from looking for some.” Justin says unconvincinly. They both look off into the massive stretch of thickly wooded jungle surrounding the clearing, listening to the ominous sounds.

At that exact moment, a medium sized bag attached to a silver parachute drifts down from the sky and lands right next to Clearfell. 

He laughs in delight, and Justin finds some solace in the way his eyes sparkle. “Look!” 

Justin moves closer to him, peering into the bag, and smiling himself at the dozen apples and bananas it contains. He doesn’t reach out and touch the bag, however, seeing that it’s clearly marked  _ 9. _

Clearfell senses his hesitancy right away. “Half of it’s yours,” he says easily, throwing an apple to Justin. 

“You sure?” Justin asks, carefully catching the apple.   
  


“Do I have to keep reminding you that you saved my life?” Clearfell says with a scoff. “Eat. I don’t need you fainting on me.”

Justin takes a bite, quickly devouring the apple, and then a second. Soon, they’ve each had three apples and a banana.

“Fruit. Witty choice.” Clearfell quips, and Justin doesn’t want to know what he means.

“What?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow when Clearfell shakes his head. “Okay, then.”

“Hey. Tell me about your life.” Clearfell says, rolling an apple in his hands.

Justin raises his eyebrows. “My life?” 

Clearfell rolls his eyes. “Yes, stop moving your eyebrows at me and tell me about your life. I don’t know anything about you.”

“I don’t know anything about you either,” Justin points out. “But okay. I’ll go first.”

Clearfell props himself up on his hands, looking at Justin expectantly.

“My parents died when I was little.” He starts, not meeting Clearfell’s eyes.

“How?” Comes his response. Justin shoots him a look, and he blushes. “Sorry. Naturally inquisitive personality.”

Justin gives a small laugh. “No, it’s okay. They both overdosed on morphling after living on it for years.” He shudders, seeing blurry memories of a man and woman with hollow eyes and skin sagging over bones. “I was raised by my sister, Amelia. Amy to everyone else. Always Amelia to me.”

Clearfell is still looking at him, engaged and listening, so Justin goes on. “She had to work practically all the time to keep us going on her own, so we were never really close.”

_ Never really close  _ is an understatement, Justin thinks.

“She did a good job. Kept me alive, at least.” He tries to joke, dropping his gaze to the ground. “But I didn’t ever really have a parental figure.”

He wonders if they’re showing this part at home, if Amelia is perched on one of their dirty chairs, her back ramrod straight as she finally confronts her distance from him all those years.

“I’m sorry,” Clearfell says, and his face is sincere. “That’s awful.”

Justin gives a small shrug. “It’s okay.” He says, staring at the ground still. It’s not, and they both know it, but he knows Clearfell isn’t going to press it. “What about you?”

Something appears in Clearfell’s expression, something painful, and Justin almost takes back the question when Clearfell starts to talk.

“My Dad hasn’t been around for awhile,” he says, his eyes steely. “But my mom, she’s strong. Brought up me and my brothers all by herself.” Wisps of a smile start to form on his face.

“You mean ‘my brothers and me.’” Justin states knowingly. “It’s proper grammar.”

Clearfell smiles for real, shoving him lightly. “Shut up.” His expression becomes lighter, more animated. “I have two brothers, they’re just twelve and nine. I love them more than anything.”

Justin only looks at him, sees the love painted so boldly across his face, hears the unspoken  _ ‘I took out tesserae so they wouldn’t starve,’  _ and wonders if his own sister has ever felt anything like this for him.

“My youngest brother, Millet? He still thinks stars are people, and that he can talk to them.” Clearfell laughs, and the sound itself almost makes Justin forget where they are.

“I wonder how he ever came to that conclusion.” Justin deadpans.

Clearfell’s mouth falls open in protest, then shuts indignantly. “Okay, I didn’t  _ tell  _ him that, but I may have  _ implied  _ it-”

Justin laughs, bright and high. “You definitely told him that, and he’s definitely going to be totally devastated when he finds out it isn’t true.”

“Well, it’s not like I  _ lied  _ to him!” Clearfell pushes back, crossing his arms and trying to look intimidating. “Some people might believe the stars are sentient!”

“Wow, look at you with the big words! I’m impressed.” Justin says sarcastically, earning him another shove to the arm.

They sit in pleasant silence for a moment before Clearfell looks at him, bright and curious. “You said in training that you didn’t ever really get into morphling.”

Justin looks back at him, confused. “Mhm?”

“Can I ask why?”

He takes in a breath, meeting Clearfell’s eyes. “My parents.”

“Ohhh,” Clearfell says, making the connection. “Is it… is it common in Six?”

“Yeah. A lot of people get into it pretty young,” Justin says, thinking for a moment. “I don’t really know why. Pretty much all of our victors are addicts, too.”

Clearfell sits back on his hands, thinking. “A lot of them seem to be unmarried.”

“The victors?” Justin asks.

“Yeah,” he elaborates. “Most of them don’t seem to have families or anything.”

They’re quiet for a moment, until Justin speaks up. “If you got out of here, would you?”

He watches as Clearfell ponders. “Someday, probably. But not anytime soon. I just got out of a relationship, anyway.”

“Oh?” Justin asks, interested. “Tell me more.”

Clearfell ducks his head, letting his hair fall in his face. “I just… needed to be myself.”

It’s not the answer Justin was expecting. “What do you mean?”

“My… partner... didn’t want us to be together in public. There were other things wrong with that relationship, but that was probably the biggest contributor. I didn’t want to be with someone who was ashamed to be with me, y’know?” Clearfell says, staring right at Justin.

Justin meets his eyes. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean.” He says, his voice low and wavering.

“Did you ever date? Back in Six?” Clearfell asks casually.

He shakes his head too fast. “I didn’t exactly have many options.” He says honestly, still looking into Clearfell’s eyes. 

They’ve been looking at each other too long, he thinks. “Plus, I’m kind of a slob, so no one really wanted to deal with that.” He adds quickly, leaning in conspiratorially and laughing at himself.

Clearfell looks at him again, and there’s something deeper in his eyes, something that Justin wants to tuck away in a box like his sister and keep from the world.

Of course, there has to be a strike of lightning to break up the moment.

They jump apart, despite being two feet away from each other, and Justin brings a hand to his cheek where the first drop of rain has landed. A second follows right after, and then a third, and soon enough his hair is sticking to his forehead.

“I wonder if this is going to be the normal type of thunderstorm or the run-for-your-life type.” Clearfell jokes, pushing his own hair back. Justin can hear the fear in his voice, masked with thin humor.

Thunder rumbles through the arena, as if to answer his question. “That was loud, but not scary loud. We probably just need to find some form of shelter.” Justin says, already cold under the drizzle.

“You’re probably right.” Clearfell muses, pushing his hair back once again where it’s fallen back in his face.

Justin notices how the blonde darkens when it’s wet, shining golden under the rain. He shivers the tiniest bit as it falls to frame Clearfell’s face.

That face which is quickly turning worried. “Are you cold? Here,” Clearfell says, moving to pull off his jacket. 

“No, I’m fine,” Justin lies, trying to stop the chattering of his teeth. “You need to stay warm, too.”

Clearfell laughs at him, placing his jacket around Justin’s shoulders. “It rains a lot in the fields when we’re working. I get used to staying out in the rain for hours. It can be kind of calming.”

Justin ignores the blush that started rising on his cheeks the second Clearfell touched him. “I’m not finding it particularly calming right now.”

Another bolt of lightning strikes somewhere far off in the arena, and Justin gestures towards it. Just then, a parachute clinks to the ground next to them.

Both of their eyes go to it immediately, seeing the paper  _ 6 _ pinned to the bundle quickly getting soggy in the rain.

“Claim your prize, my prince.” Clearfell says in some sort of haughty accent that makes them both double over with laughter.

When Justin picks up the fabric bundle, he expects it to be wet, but the droplets roll right off as soon as he moves it. Unwrapping it reveals a waterproof blanket, soft to the touch. Justin can’t wait to wrap himself up in it and out of the rain.

“Wow. Good sponsors.” Clearfell comments.

“Half of it’s yours,” Justin quotes, to a look of surprise on Clearfell’s face. “What? You shared your food. Come on, we’ll both fit under it.”

He doesn’t meet Clearfell’s eyes, moving over to the patch of leaves where he slept, huddling under half of the blanket and holding the other side out.

Clearfell only hesitates for a moment before grabbing the fabric. “Thanks.” He says softly, sitting on the ground next to Justin and pulling the blanket over himself.

“Cozy, isn’t it?” Justin deadpans, shivering. 

“Are you still cold?” Clearfell asks, putting his arms around Justin. “Come here. We’ll both stay warmer the closer we are to each other.”

Justin freezes for a moment at the contact, so foreign in the arena, and even in his normal life. He looks up to see Clearfell’s easy smile, and leans into his touch, grateful for the warmth.

He’s just slipping into sleep when a canon goes off, causing him to sit upright. Clearfell’s arm tenses around him, then falls from his body. Justin mourns its absence immediately.

A second canon follows before they can say anything. Justin looks up at Clearfell, trying to keep the worry off his face. “Who do you think it was?”

Clearfell grimaces, something Justin reads as uncharacteristic. “Does it matter?”

“You’re right. I just…” He trails off, pulling the blanket back down around them. “I don’t know.”

“I know,” Clearfell says softly, and Justin is glad that the rain and the blanket make it impossible for the cameras to see them. “Go back to sleep. You didn’t get much last night.”

“Okay.” Justin responds, unsure if he should lean onto Clearfell again. Their sides are touching, but he still shivers, feeling a drop of water fall from his hair and slide down his back.

Clearfell silently answers him by pulling him close again, huddling their bodies together under the cover of the blanket.

Justin falls asleep quickly, dozing lightly under the warm safety of the blanket. He’s pulled in and out of gentle sleep for a few hours before another canon jerks him awake.

“How many is that now?” He asks Clearfell, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. 

Clearfell thinks for a second. “Six of us left.” 

They sit in silence under the blanket, the unspoken words swirling between them, until Clearfell sits up slightly and tilts his head. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” Justin watches his face anxiously.

He lifts a corner of the blanket, peeking out. “I think the rain stopped.”

Justin pulls the blanket off his shoulders, squinting in the sun. “We’re going to need to camouflage.”

“Where?” Clearfell asks, pushing the rest of the blanket off of himself. “It’s just mud over here now.”

“Exactly,” Justin laughs. “There are some bushes, just over there. We could camouflage ourselves into the undergrowth and hide in there.”

Clearfell scrunches his face, causing Justin to laugh again. “What?”

“I wouldn’t really count on my camouflage abilities keeping us hidden from a squirrel, much less another tribute.”

“Oh, so I’m a bad teacher?” Justin jokes, pulling the makeup from his pile of supplies. “I’ll help you. Come here.”

Clearfell moves to sit in front of him. “Are you going to paint me into a plant?”

“No, stupid. Sit still.” Justin responds, streaking green across his cheek. He’s suddenly aware of how close their faces are.

He silently paints Clearfell with tones of brown and green, and then himself, until their faces are muddy as the plants on the ground.

“Okay, I have to get your back. Your shirt’s got that big rip in it.” Justin says, not meeting Clearfell’s eyes.

“Would it be easier if I just took my shirt off?” Clearfell says, and before Justin can respond, he pulls his shirt over his head and puts it in his lap.

Justin inhales sharply, immediately turning red. Clearfell turns around and sits up, forcing Justin to lean over and paint the small of his back with held breath.

“Are you getting it?” Clearfell asks, and his voice sounds oddly high. “The rip’s pretty big.”

Justin swallows. “Yeah,” he responds, the words cracking. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

He moves his fingers up a little, swiftly covering the soft skin until he can’t do any more. “Okay.”

Clearfell turns, and though he’s covered in earth tones, Justin still can’t stop looking at him. “Now I need you to do mine.”

He tries not to notice how Clearfell’s cheeks flush pink as he nods, the way his voice wavers as he speaks. “Yeah. Okay.”

Justin reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. “Can’t risk it riding up and showing skin that’s not camouflaged.” He glances at Clearfell’s shirt, carefully placed across a rock.

“Gotta let it dry in the sun.” Clearfell responds, reaching for the makeup palette. “So I just smear it on?”

“Yeah,” Justin responds, forcing himself to turn away from the sight of the shirtless boy in front of him. “Just do your best.”

He feels hesitant fingers ghost over his back before they make contact, skin on skin. He tries not to gasp as Clearfell trails soft hands down his spine.

Justin doesn’t breathe normally until Clearfell declares him camouflaged, turning away to put on his somewhat more dry shirt.

As they cover their supplies with plants, Justin feels Clearfell’s eyes on him. He turns, meeting his gaze, but Clearfell still doesn’t look away. “What?”

“You’re so… green.” He says finally, causing Justin to laugh. “Well, you are!”

He doesn’t stop laughing until a silver parachute clinks to the ground in the narrow space between them, holding a warm loaf of bread.

Clearfell laughs himself, full of joy. “Looks like we got dinner!”

Justin smiles up at him. “Get in the mud, you heathen.”

They have to quiet their giggles the entire time they eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Let me know what you thought in the comments section!


	4. The Feast

Justin is lying on his back, staring at the sky, while Clearfell sits next to him, propped up on a log.

“How many days has it been?” Clearfell asks, running his hand along the dry leaves next to him.

“Nine? Ten?” Justin responds. “I can’t be sure, but it’s one of the two.”

Clearfell glances down at Justin, then to the sky. “And there’s five of us left?”

“Shouldn’t you keep track of your own numbers?” Justin teases, turning his head to meet Clearfell’s eyes.

“Shut up,” Clearfell says with a smile. “It’s just, where do you think the others could be?”

Justin puts his head back, thinking. “Well, the girl from Two, Jezebel, is probably stalking around looking for victims. She’s still injured from the flamingos, though.”

He watches Clearfell shudder and places a hand on his, meant to be comforting, but when their eyes meet again, Justin pulls away.

“Then there’s the girl from Four,” He says, too loud. “The one who didn’t join the careers. I can’t say where she’d be.”

Clearfell nods, crossing his arms. “And the boy from-”

The sound of trumpets fills the arena. Justin jumps up. Clearfell sits up straight, alert and on the offensive.

“Attention, tributes. There will be a feast, held in an hour’s time, at the Cornucopia. Each of you will find something in a backpack marked with your district number. Something you need desperately.”

Justin exchanges a glance with Clearfell. There’s no way he’s thinking about going, Justin thinks.

“Again, there will be a feast. Each of you needs something desperately. It’ll be sitting in a marked backpack, at the Cornucopia, in one hour.”

They listen for a moment with bated breath until the announcement is surely over. Justin turns to say something, but Clearfell is already speaking.

“We have to go.” His expression is determined.

Justin balks at the idea. “Are you crazy? It’s a suicide misson, for both of us.”

“One of us can go in with the other covering. This could be my only chance to use a pitchfork, the only weapon I can really work with!” Clearfell protests.

Justin crosses his arms. “And me?”

“I gave you some lessons, we can work with it some more.” Clearfell responds dismissively. “Besides, he said everyone desperately needs something, that means you’ll get something too.”

“We’re fine with supplies, and I already have everything I need for camouflage. It’s not like I have any other skills under my belt. I’m not risking my life for this.” Justin responds, standing his ground.

Clearfell throws his hands above his head. “How are we supposed to fight Jezebel with fucking makeup, Justin?”

“I don’t want to fight Jezebel at all! We’re on the defensive, can’t you remember?” Justin shoots back. “It’s a one-way ticket back home in a wooden box.”

“Not if we work together!” Clearfell yells, getting heated. “We’re supposed to be in this together!”

Justin steps forward. “We can’t be in this together if we both die!”

Clearfell gets ready to yell something else, but stops in his tracks, dropping his arms and looking away. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It won’t be your last chance to get a weapon, even a pitchfork.” Justin reassures. “We have a lot of sponsors. We’ll let the other three fight it out at the feast, and then move forward from there.”

“Yeah, it’ll all work out.” Clearfell responds with a smile. 

_ For one of us _ is left unspoken, up in the air, but they both hear it.

Justin smiles back, though his thoughts dampen the expression. “Definitely. Now, I gotta go, uh…” He gestures vaguely to the woods.

Clearfell laughs, high and bright. “‘Make water?’” He says with air quotations.

Justin smiles. “Correct. I’ll be right back.”

He turns and trudges off into the jungle, the stress from the argument starting to roll off his back. Justin does his business, wondering if they’re going to have enough water for the next day.

He’s walking back to their clearing, head in the clouds, when his vision sharpens on the small camp.

Clearfell is gone.

No, no, no, Justin thinks. He was only gone for a second. Clearfell can’t be gone.

“Clearfell?” He calls, desperately scanning the trees, until he sees Clearfell’s jacket is gone from where it sat on a rock.

“Clearfell!” Justin screams, to no result. He falls into a walk, pacing back and forth in the clearing.

Everyone else will be there, he thinks. Jezebel, with her knives. The girl from Four, the boy from Seven. And Clearfell. Unarmed.

He paces faster, mind swirling with worry. Okay. Clearfell is fast. He’ll get in and out of there, with their backpacks and maybe a minor wound, and get back to camp.

Then a canon sounds, and Justin loses his shit.

He falls to the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees, breathing hard. Panicked tears threaten to fall with every breath.

It starts to rain, puddles forming in the small craters of the ground. Justin stares into a muddy puddle, not recognizing the reflection that stares back.

“I’ve got something for you.” Says Clearfell.

Justin sits up and turns very slowly, but as soon as he sees Clearfell standing in the rain with two backpacks marked  _ 6  _ and  _ 9 _ , he lunges for him.

“How fucking could you? Why didn’t you even warn me that you were leaving? I can’t fucking believe you!” Justin screams, punching Clearfell as hard as he can.

He keeps spewing obscenities as he pummels Clearfell’s chest, close to sobbing with the effort.

Clearfell grabs his arms. “Hold on. Let me explain.”

Justin wriggles one arm free and grabs Clearfell’s shirt, going to hit him, but instead he pulls him in close. And then they’re kissing.

The first thought that registers in Justin’s mind is how shockingly warm it is in the cold rain. They’re electric, moving together intensely in a bubble of heat.

Justin pulls back after only a few moments, and Clearfell just stares at him. He’s ready to run, hide, go anywhere, do anything to get away, when Clearfell grabs him by the neck and pulls him in for another searing kiss. 

They clash against each other in a moment of pure passion, holding each other in the rain. Justin pulls back and presses his forehead against Clearfell’s, laughing.

“What is it?” Clearfell breathes.

Justin stares at him, his wet hair, the lines of his muscles, and smiles a bit wider. “Nothing. Take this off?”

He tugs at Clearfell’s shirt, causing him to laugh. “Take off anything you want.”

Justin reaches for the hem of the shirt, pulling it up and over Clearfell’s head. He places a hand on Clearfell’s bare chest.

Clearfell gasps sharply, looking down to meet Justin’s eyes through the rain. His eyes are dark, half-lidded as he frantically tugs Justin’s shirt off.

Their lips meet again, both of them breathing in deep at the feeling of skin on skin. They press against each other, becoming as close as they can possibly be.

“Get these off,” Clearfell mumbles, breathing hot on Justin’s ear and slipping his fingers under the waistband of his pants. 

Justin breathes out a laugh in response, pulling his wet pants off and leaving them in a pile on the floor. He looks up, feeling his cheeks go red.

Clearfell stares down at Justin for a moment, raking over his form, and Justin has never felt more self conscious.

And then he drops to his knees.

Justin gasps, feeling Clearfell’s mouth ghost over his thighs, up onto his crotch. He mouths over Justin’s underwear, biting down on the hem and pulling them down.

He teases for a moment before taking Justin’s length in his mouth, swallowing it down expertly.

“Ohhh…” Justin moans as Clearfell keeps moving, grinning despite his mouthful. “That’s good, that’s so…  _ oh, fuck! _ ”

He threads his hand through Clearfell’s hair. “If you don’t stop, this’ll be over before I can get my hands on you.”

Clearfell pulls off, leaning back on his hands and breathing in deep. “That good, huh?”

Justin pushes him back, knocking them both to the ground. “Shut up and take your pants off.”

They stare at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. Justin lets his head fall onto Clearfell’s chest.

“Let me make you feel good,” Clearfell whispers into Justin’s ear. 

“Isn’t that what you just did?” Justin laughs.

Clearfell kisses the spot behind Justin’s ear. “Let me take care of you.” He mumbles.

Justin sits up, looking down at him. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Take care of me, Clearfell.”

“Shit, the way you say my name…” Clearfell trails off, looking into Justin’s eyes. “Come here.”

Clearfell sits up, gently pushing Justin onto the blanket that’s laid out on the ground. He shivers almost immediately, so Clearfell pulls him close and kisses him softly.

He starts kissing down Justin’s neck, moving down to lightly suck down his shoulder, then down his back until he has Justin gasping under his tongue.

“Wait, do you hear something?” Justin breathes, turning to his left.

Clearfell pauses for a moment, listening closely. “No, not really.”

“Then don’t stop on my account.” Justin grins.

“Wait,” Clearfell says, sitting back. “Do you want to try something?”

Justin idly plays with the open buttons of Clearfell’s pants. “Hm?”

He only lets his eyes flick down to his bulge, then to Justin’s crotch.

“Oh,” Justin says, feeling himself stiffen even more. “Yes.”

“Have you, y’know, before?”

Justin goes even more red. “Yeah,” he responds, placing his hand on Clearfell’s stomach, feeling the firm muscle there. “Have you?”

“Mhm.” Clearfell responds. “I don’t really have, uh, anything.”

“Guess you’ll have to really use your fingers.” Justin responds, uncharacteristically cheekily.

Clearfell raises his eyebrows, smiling. “Okay, then. Get on your back.”

Justin obeys, lying back onto the blanket and looking up through his eyelashes as Clearfell pulls off his pants, then his underwear.

Clearfell looks right down into Justin’s eyes and presses two fingers to his mouth. “Suck.”

Justin lets his eyes flutter shut as he moves his tongue over Clearfell’s fingers, wetting them to what he hopes is enough.

He gasps at the first feeling of a wet finger at his entrance, breathing in sharply as Clearfell slowly pushes it in.

“Is this okay?” He asks, moving his other hand up Justin’s side and resting it on his waist.

“Yeah,” Justin responds, smiling slightly. “You can keep going.”

Clearfell adds a second finger, then a third, until Justin is squirming on his hand and moaning softly.

“Can I-” Clearfell starts, pulling his hand away and sitting up slightly.

“Yes, please. Fuck.” Justin curses, arching his back against the wet blanket.

Clearfell laughs softly, then he’s sliding in, and Justin is shuddering.

“Holy shit, Justin.” Clearfell breathes, adjusting himself so he’s full seated. “You feel so good.”

“Oh, god.” Justin moans, high and light. “Please, move.”

And he does.

Clearfell pushes into him, thrusting again and again, until Justin feels like the coil tightening in his stomach is about to burst.

“Clearfell, I’m gonna-” He gasps out.

“Yeah, me too.” Clearfell responds, grunting as he pushes into Justin again. He reaches out, almost blindly, intertwining their hands just as he climaxes.

“ _ Oh! _ ” Justin cries out, letting go just as he feels Clearfell finish inside him.

Clearfell falls onto him, and they hold each other close as they recover, breathing heavy in the rain.

“You’re so perfect.” Clearfell whispers into Justin’s ear, placing a light kiss on the shell of it.

Justin smiles lightly. “You’re the one who’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I’m sorry it’s been so long, I’ve been feeling really off recently and I haven’t been motivated to do anything, but I’m back on the horse with this update! This’ll be finishing up soon, but then I might write one of Christian Blanco’s newest gay victor... if anyone would want to see Flint Harrison?


	5. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga comes to an end, and Justin comes home.

“Look, the sun’s coming back,” Clearfell murmurs into Justin’s ear.

Justin blinks awake from his nap, glancing up to the sun. “Mm. How long did I sleep?”

Clearfell grins down at him. “Not long. The rain kind of just stopped after we, well, y’know.”

A blush spreads across his cheeks, and Justin raises his eyebrows. “Did you just blush for the first time in history?”

“Shut up,” Clearfell mumbles. “I wonder what my parents are thinking right now.”

Justin bursts out laughing. “You’re thinking about your parents after what we just did?”

“Well, didn’t you think about what people back home are thinking right now?” Clearfell asks indignantly.

“Not really,” Justin responds, thinking. “I suppose my sister is just sort of shaking her head at the tv.”

Clearfell laughs. “I think my parents probably tried to find a way to turn the thing off. I bet my mom is wondering what turned me gay.”

“Dick, probably,” Justin deadpans, causing Clearfell to burst into laughter.

He leans back, pulling Justin close. “Did you just say ‘dick’ for the first time in history?” He quotes.

They’re quiet for a moment, watching the sky as the clouds clear. 

“I bet my friends have no shortage of innuendo.” Clearfell muses.

Justin tries to remember everything he can about District Nine. “Grain-themed innuendo? Do you have some wheat to hull?”

Clearfell shakes his head, grinning. “What do you think people back in Six would have to say about you?”

“I don’t know,” Justin says, thinking. “I’d imagine my classmates are all a little surprised.”

“No one knew? About you?” Clearfell asks carefully.

A memory forms in Justin’s mind. His sister moving him away from other boys when he got too close, keeping him from making friends.

“I didn’t tell anyone, but I think Amelia probably caught on. I think Six is one of the worst districts when it comes to that.”

Clearfell strokes Justin’s arm, feeling the tense muscles there. Justin sighs, leaning into him more. “What about you?”

He shrugs, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s usually not a big deal in Nine. I dated one of my best friends for awhile, and even though no one cared at school, he didn’t want to tell his parents, so we broke up.”

Justin looks up at him. “That must have been very hard for you.”

“There were problems with that relationship for the start,” Clearfell says with a sigh. He pokes Justin in the side. “But now I have you.”

***

When night falls, they lie on the ground, sprawled out on their backs. 

“Sometimes, in the fields, my friends and I would sneak away before quitting time,” Clearfell says, his voice barely above a whisper. Justin moves closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. “We would look up at the black sky together. It gets so dark out there in the fields at night, because they’re so far away from everything else.”

His voice drops, just slightly, as a single tear falls down his cheek. “There weren’t any other lights around to dim the beauty of the stars.”

Justin touches the side of Clearfell’s face lightly. “No matter what happens in the arena or after, I’ll always remember this night. We'll always have this night together.”

And when Clearfell kisses him, it almost feels as if they could have more nights after this.

They both hear the words he doesn’t speak.  _ I’ll always remember you. _

***

The next morning, Justin wakes to the sound of a small bird chirping, up high on a leaf. For a moment, he forgets where he is, and holds onto the warmth of Clearfell’s arms around him.

Then he looks at the boy next to him, and reality hits him like a brick. They can’t keep this up any longer.

He knows it’s not just that, that something about this boy makes him want to put them in a box and keep it far away from the cameras. It’s like he’s homesick for a life he could’ve had.

They wouldn’t have ever met, coming from different districts, but Justin lets himself imagine. A little house in Six, far from the main train station, in the quiet fields out by the fence. Two children, taken away from the community home and never taken back.

Strangely, it makes him feel a little better. He’s never had much of a home. Making one up feels safer than letting himself face what other horrors might be to come.

But he can’t let himself lose his life to love. Because that’s what this is, and the only way he’ll be able to move on is if he acknowledges it first.

Justin carefully pulls himself from Clearfell’s arms, taking a moment to press a feather-light kiss to Clearfell’s wrist. Then he takes his bag from the feast and opens it, to reveal a small dagger.

He selects some food and water, tucks it all carefully away in the bag, and turns one last time to look at Clearfell. He’s sleeping so peacefully, golden under the sunlight.

It takes all of Justin’s self control to turn and walk away.

Tears form in his eyes as he walks, willing himself not to turn back. He waits until he knows he’s out of sight, and then he breaks into a run.

Justin runs until he’s panting with exhaustion, breathing too loud to conceal, so he picks a tree and climbs. 

He spends two days in that tree.

The sound of a canon wakes Justin in the evening of the twelfth night. He worries and worries, bringing himself to a point of hysteria, until Margherita’s portrait is projected into the sky.

Relief floods his mind, and then guilt. He never thought he’d be so happy to hear of someone else’s death.

He manages to fall back into a fitful sleep until a bolt of lightning crashes through the arena. The sky is a grey haze, covering the sunlight with a sickly fog. A tree catches on fire at the perimeter, and so Justin runs.

Justin sprints faster than he’s ever sprinted in his life. He bolts through the arena, willing his feet to carry him home, and when a scream and a canon sound in tandem behind him, he does not turn back.

When the cornucopia comes into view, a figure is standing next to it. Justin prays and hopes, but he soon gets close enough to see the figure in detail.

He stops in his tracks, and his body trembles at Clearfell’s sad smile. “I get why you left. I would have soon enough.”

Justin nods sorrowfully. And when Clearfell changes his stance ever so slightly, Justin has to force himself to be ready.

“I’m sorry,” He says, before charging at Justin with a dagger identical to the one Justin carries in his pocket.

They fight nobly, pushing and shoving until Justin manages to stab Clearfell in the stomach. He falls to the ground, and Justin falls with him in pure shock.

He pushes the knife in Clearfell’s abdomen and twists hard, feeling his heart wrench as he is forced to watch the shock bloom across Clearfell’s face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He cries, kneeling next to Clearfell, who clutches onto Justin’s jacket. “I’ll never forget you. Not ever.”

Clearfell smiles, a single tear running down his cheek and creating a path in the layers of dirt and blood. “I love you,” He says simply.

Justin watches in a panic as the life drains from the face he kissed so many times, but never enough. It will never be enough. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but then the canon sounds, and his world spins.

“I loved you, too.”

His victory is hollow.

***

_ Fourteen years later _

The sword. Justin has to get to the sword.

If he can get his hands on a weapon, he might last through the day. But his mind is so foggy from the morphling that he can barely see, barely run.

His fingers have just closed around the metal of the weapon when he hears the  _ woosh  _ of the spear in front of him. Justin closes his eyes a half second before it impales him in the heart.

As he falls back into the water, time seems to slow down. He sees his father’s face, worlorn and dying. He sees his sister’s hand, pushing him away from another boy. But most of all he sees Clearfell.

Clearfell in the water. Clearfell painting him with mud. Clearfell gasping with pleasure under Justin’s hands. Clearfell saying _ there weren’t any other lights around to dim the beauty of the stars. _

Then Justin’s not falling anymore. He opens his eyes, confused, and sees the sparkling, golden boy grinning down at him. Clearfell holds out his hand.

And Justin takes it.

_ fin _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, SO much for going on this journey with me! I have absolutely loved writing this fanfic of Christian Blanco's incredible story, and getting recognized by him was crazy and amazing. I know this hasn't been updated in awhile, and I wanna say I'm super sorry about that. I was going through a really hard time for most of late August-early October and I wasn't motivated to do anything. But I'm back, and I'm working on an original piece, so I would be super excited to hear if anyone would want to read that, as well as requests for other games created by Christian that you'd like to read from me. As always, please please please leave me a comment if you enjoyed this, and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! If you're enjoying so far, please leave me a comment to let me know.
> 
> This fanfiction is based on the series "Tales of the Hunger Games" by Christian Blanco on YouTube. See below for a breakdown of which ideas I added to the story and which pieces are taken from the source material.
> 
> Created by me:
> 
> -Clearfell's last name  
> -Justin's sister, Amelia  
> -Justin and Massachusie's escort  
> -The careers, excluding Jezebel and Margherita  
> -The specific mentors for the tributes mentioned (Llewelyn to Justin, Megan to Massachusie, Jericho to Clearfell)  
> -Character appearance details  
> -All pre-games events excluding the interactions between Justin and Clearfell during training
> 
> Created by Christian Blanco:
> 
> -The characters Justin, Clearfell, Megan, Llewelyn, Jezebel, Root, Delia, Massachusie, Lupe, Alvaro, Dwayne, Margharita, and Jericho  
> -All of the major plot structure (for specifics, see Christian's video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icH0uzD8qFc&t=1066s )  
> -The involvement of Festus Creed as head interviewer/commentator
> 
> Created by Suzanne Collins:
> 
> -The structure of the Hunger Games and related events (parade, training, interviews, games)  
> -The universe (districts and capitol)  
> -All other influences/references from the original Hunger Games trilogy as well as from The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
> 
> Changes from canon:
> 
> -In the books, it’s stated that Caesar Flickerman has been the head interviewer for more than forty years. In Christian Blanco’s version, he states that this was Festus Creed’s final year in the position, with his resignation following Justin’s chaotic final interview. I decided to stay as closely in line with Christian’s canon as possible.
> 
> -In the books, the tributes take seats in front of the stage during the interviews and watch until it’s their turn, when they sit down again and wait for the anthem to be played at the end. In the movie, they’re shown waiting backstage and watching on a screen, which is what I chose to write.


End file.
